


It’s Not Over

by jadey36



Category: Robin Hood BBC
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2017-10-18 06:03:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadey36/pseuds/jadey36
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robin has returned from the Crusades to find that Guy of Gisborne has taken his place as Lord of Locksley. And that's not all he finds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Homecoming

“Look at it, Robin. Just look at it!”

Much grinned and then noisily inhaled a lungful of crisp morning air through flared nostrils.

“I’d forgotten how beautiful the forest is in spring. Well, summer, too. And autumn. Maybe not the winter, though. Hate trudging through the mud and snow, wet leaves smacking into my face. But this...this!”

He spread his arms wide and did a twirl.

Dear Much. I haven’t seen him this happy in a long time and I’m expecting him to break into song at any moment.

“Time for a song, I think.”

What did I tell you?

Him and his blooming songs. Don’t get me wrong; I love dear, bumbling, ever-hungry Much, my boyhood friend and former manservant. It’s just that sometimes I want to strangle him. Not today, however. That would be too cruel. Today he can sing all he likes because we are back in England after five years of bloody war. We are in Nottinghamshire, home, and presently walking under a shady canopy of green leaves topped by a cloudless blue sky.

Before the heat, the flies, the relentless sun and the never-ending sand of the Holy Land, before all the death and dying in Acre, Sherwood Forest had been my sanctuary. Hidden among the trees, away from prying eyes, Much and I practised our swordsmanship and archery. My father, having once caught us sparring in the yard, forbade me to waste my time teaching a servant to use sword and bow. He sent Much off to the kitchens with a swift kick up the backside and me to my room. After that, Much and I practised in Sherwood, where my father could not see us.

Not that I needed to practise with the bow. Even at the tender age of ten summers, I was one of the best archers in the shire. Much, however, needed all the help he could get. He was full of enthusiasm but lacked any real skill. He huffed and puffed his way through my lessons, whooping when he made a good shot and scowling and moaning, blaming the wind or a dodgy arrow, when he didn’t.

We persevered and in the end the hard work paid off. Not that I did anything that could be called hard work, as I spent most of the time teasing Much over his clumsiness and lack of finesse. Nevertheless, by the time we took up King Richard’s call to arms, Much was a fine archer and swordsman. My father was also long dead.

In the Holy Land, I thanked God almost every day that I’d disobeyed my father and spent all my spare time in the forest with Much. Little did we know then how necessary those sword and bow skills would be. It was because of my prowess with the bow that I escaped death many times over, and it was because of Much’s dogged loyalty to me and those skills he’d learned in the forest that he too survived the bloody horrors of war.

Much continued with his inane chatter and, for once, I was glad.

“I could just weep,” he declared, to no one in particular.

He did of course. Because that was Much, always wearing his heart on his sleeve. There have been many times when I wished I could be more like him.

“Oh, Master, just look at it,” he said, wiping his tear-stained face. “You don’t know how good this feels, to be so close to home. I’m so excited I could—I could—”

I gave him a piercing look forgetting that I’d decided to allow him to sing today.

He shrugged his shoulders and sighed. “All right, I won’t sing.”

Jasmina turned to me and smiled.

“You did not tell me your home was such a beautiful place. I never thought I would see somewhere with so much green.”

She made me start; I’d forgotten she was with me for a moment.

Smiling, I watched as her head darted from side to side, taking it all in, wide-eyed with wonder.

I was glad she had decided to come back to England with us. She had been a great source of comfort to me following the attack on the king and the days that followed. And I think she was happy to be with me. Her parents were dead, both killed during the fighting, and she had no one else.

“Your lady, you will see her soon, yes?”

“Yes, Jasmina. Soon. That is, if she still lives with her father.”

“She is pretty, no?”

She ended many of her sentences with a yes or no. I found it an endearing quality.

“Well, she was pretty when we parted. I cannot believe she will have changed that much.”

“And you?” Jasmina asked. “You have not changed much, yes?”

“If you mean the way I look, then a little. Thinner, I guess. We didn’t eat so well in your country. I didn’t, at least.”

I glanced at Much and Jasmina laughed.

Sorry, Much, but it’s true. The way to your heart, mind, feet, everything in fact, is through your stomach.

“I guess my hair needs cutting too,” I said.

“If she could, she would do it for you, no?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.”

She had so many questions. It is the way with the young. I didn’t mind. It’s just that sometimes I prefer not to talk. Sometimes I just want to be alone with my thoughts.

Perhaps she sensed my mood because for a while we walked in silence – apart from Much’s occasional happy outbursts, of course – and in the relative peace and quiet, my mind began to wander.

What will Marian say when she sees me? After all, we had not parted on the best of terms.

“I still do not understand,” she had shouted, for what seemed like the umpteenth time. “Why are you going?”

“Because it’s my duty,” I had retorted. “Because there are many men leaving their homes and their lands to go fight for their king. It is an honour, Marian. Surely you can see that.”

Honour. Duty. Words I used to hide the truth. The truth that I sought adventure, craved the risks – after all, life was easy going for Robin of Locksley, Earl of Huntingdon. And yes, I had wanted glory.

Rather than finding adventure, however, I suffered exhausting marches in mind-numbing heat and boredom and terror in equal measure. Instead of glory, I lived with the stench of battle in my nostrils and listened to men dying in agony, weeping for their mothers.

I did not want to do my duty. I wanted to go home.


	2. An Unwelcome Welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much, Robin and Jasmina reach Locksley only to find a rather hostile welcome.

Much wanted to go straight to Locksley, of course, hoping for a warm bath and some food – not necessarily in that order. 

I wanted to go to Knighton because I wanted to find out if Marian had given up on our childhood betrothal and married. But Much was thinking with his stomach as usual and it was such a beautiful morning I didn’t have the heart to spoil it for him. After all that he had done for me in the Holy Land, I owed him that much.  I doubt he would have listened to me in any case; Much is nothing but single-minded when it comes to food.

When we reached Dead Man’s Crossing, one path leading to Locksley, the other to Knighton, I started striding towards Knighton, my Saracen bow clutched in my right hand and Jasmina’s small hand clutched in my left.

After walking several yards, I glanced behind me. Much was nowhere in sight, having taken the Locksley path. I sighed and Jasmina and I turned to follow him.

~

I’m not ashamed to say that as we stood atop the grassy hill overlooking Locksley my eyes were full of tears, Much’s too.

Jasmina squeezed my hand. I had told her a lot about Locksley as I lay on my cot fighting the fever that following my stabbing. She knew how much it meant to me.

“You were right, Robin,” she said in that soft lilting voice of hers. “It is a beautiful place.”

I stared at the manor house and its surrounds. Although I couldn’t put my finger on it, I knew something was wrong.

Granted, Locksley used to be a peaceful little estate, but even so, there was always someone around, going about his or her business, always the sound of an axe on wood, women’s voices as they drew water from the well or washed and hung clothes to dry and the laughter of children at play.

Not today. Today Locksley was eerily quiet. 

“Where is everyone?” Much wondered aloud.

Then we did see someone, stepping out from behind one of my peasant’s cottages. He was dressed like a castle guard – quite possibly he was a castle guard – and he was looking menacingly in our direction. 

I picked up my bow and put out my hand to try to stop Much from going any farther, but there was no need. He simply stood, staring at his old home, doubtless wondering, as was I, what changes had taken place in Locksley since our departure some six years ago.

Finally, someone emerged from Locksley Manor itself: my old house servant, Thornton. I smiled, relief flooding through me.

Still smiling, I made to walk down the hill, but something caused me to change my mind.  Thornton was vehemently shaking his head and waving us away. I paused and then cursed as I realised he was waving at Much, already halfway down the hill, driven by his growling stomach, ignoring whatever danger Thornton was trying to keep us from.

When Much reached him, rather than Thornton giving him a welcoming embrace, he grabbed Much’s forearm and started dragging him away from the manor house, towards the hill where Jasmina and I were still standing.

“You must go,” I heard Thornton saying. “My master will be home from London soon and this is the last place you want to be, trust me.”

“But surely...after all this time, after all I’ve been through, you can’t—”

“Go!” Thornton cut across him, letting go of Much’s arm and shooing him away with his hands, glancing briefly in my direction as he did so.  

Bemused, and clearly frightened by Thornton’s actions, Much turned and stumbled back up the hill.  

I looked at Jasmina.

As if sensing my fear and dismay at finding such a welcome in the place I’d dreamed of seeing again for so long, she lightly touched my arm and smiled a reassuring smile.

“All will be well,” she said. “I am sure of it.”

I nodded and gave her a small smile in return.

Panting heavily Much plonked on the grass beside us and returned his attention to Locksley. Thornton had gone back inside the house and in his place stood two more guards. 

It seemed prudent to leave at that point.

~

On our walk back to the forest, Much kept shaking his head and mumbling about how hungry he was and how dare Thornton not let him into the manor; they should, he said, give him a hero’s welcome after serving the king so faithfully in the Holy Land and returning home unscathed – well, a little scathed, as he put it.

For myself, I would not have wanted a hero’s welcome. Indeed, I would have been happy to simply sit by the great hearth in the manor house hall, warm myself in front of a roaring fire and rest my weary legs. Something to eat would have been welcome too.

As we walked, I pondered why Edward, Marian’s father and the Sheriff of Nottingham, would deem guards necessary in Locksley. Was the village under threat? Surely not. However, my thoughts soon returned to Marian and her marital status and I pushed what had occurred in Locksley to the back of my mind.

Once we were some distance from my lands and home, we paused to take our bearings.

Jasmina looked at me questioningly.

“Why did your manservant tell Much to go away, Robin?”

I smiled at her. “Perhaps they’ve heard about his huge appetite and were afraid they might run out of food.”

“You do not wonder who this mysterious master might be who has taken your place?”

“Well, I am curious, of course, but...” I shrugged my shoulders as if it was of little concern, though truthfully I was beginning to worry that all was not right in not only Locksley but also Nottinghamshire itself.

“But you wish to see your lady love now, yes?”

I stared into her deep brown eyes, so serious, so knowing. 

“Yes, Jasmina. I want to see Marian.”

“To Knighton then,” Much muttered to himself. “I’ll eat at Knighton. Pork first or maybe beef. Although lamb would be nice.”

I glanced at Jasmina and we both burst out laughing.

 

 


	3. Unsettling Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much, Robin and Jasmina arrive at Knighton Hall - Much to eat and Robin to see Marian. Things do not go well.

**Unsettling Times**

Much knocked on the heavy oak door of Knighton Hall. We heard footsteps. The door opened a crack and then abruptly slammed shut.

“How rude,” Much said.

Jasmina and I stood several paces behind him, me nervously shifting my weight from foot to foot, she twiddling a dark curl of hair around her index finger.

My heart was beating fast, an unwelcome reminder of the many times I had stood next to King Richard, fingering my weapons, awaiting the king’s order to attack. I licked my dry lips and caught myself touching the familiar curves of my Saracen bow despite knowing I was among friends here. For the briefest flash of time, no more than a handful of heartbeats, I envisaged Marian standing in the doorway, holding an arrow-loaded bow and pointing it in my direction. The moment passed and I let go the breath I’d been holding.

Much gave another determined rap and this time the door opened fully revealing Edward, the Sheriff of Nottingham. He looked a lot older than when I’d last seen him, though I know I should not have been surprised at this. His once thick hair was thinning and completely grey, peppered with white. His face was lined, his mouth pinched and his eyes had that watery look of the old and infirm.

At Much’s enquiry, Edward informed us that Marian was not at Knighton.

My disappointment at this news was so acute I could feel it coming off me in waves. I think Jasmina sensed my dismay as she quickly grasped my hand as if to stop me from pushing into the hall to see whether Edward was lying.

“I am sorry,” Edward said, shaking his head. “You were not to know. My daughter no longer lives with me. She is with her husband now. At Locksley.”

“Husband? at Locksley?” I said, giving Edward an accusatory stare, as though he was entirely to blame for Marian’s present circumstances, which indeed he might have been.

I quickly realised that Marian must be married to the master that Thornton seemed so keen to keep us away from. Who was this man? What kind of unfeeling character could he be that he wouldn’t welcome home a crusader knight with open arms? And why had Marian married him? Had Edward arranged the marriage or was the man of Marian’s choosing? These and a dozen other questions whirled around my head while Edward carried on talking.

“My daughter does not live at Locksley exclusively. She divides her time between there and the castle. Her husband works for the new sheriff,” he added, as though this would explain everything.

“Oh,” Much said. He glanced over his shoulder at me, his brow crinkling in puzzlement, and then returned his attention to Edward. “That is...well, that is.” He trailed off, clearly not knowing what to say. I didn’t know what to say either. Commiserations at Edward’s loss of office would have been the polite thing, I suppose, but the news about Marian had made both Much and I mute.

Jasmina nudged me and said something in her mother tongue that I failed to understand despite speaking her language well. I guess I was in shock. I had stupidly thought that nothing would have changed during the time I’d been away; that Locksley, Nottingham and indeed all of England might have collectively held its breath until I had returned from the Crusades. Noticing Much’s bewildered expression, I surmised he felt the same.

By the time we regained our composure, Edward was already shutting the door on us, mumbling something about not fraternising with anyone who might oppose the new sheriff’s authority. As we had yet to visit Nottingham and meet the new sheriff, I could do little else but wonder what kind of tyrant might be ruling over both my and Edward’s people.

Much hopped about on the doorstep for a moment and then, with a muttered, “We’ll see about this,” he rapped firmly on the closed and bolted door. He did so several times, but the door remained shut. It seemed Knighton, like Locksley, was off-limits to us.

Defeated, he turned away with a prolonged groan. I patted his shoulder in sympathy: I knew how much he’d been looking forward to getting something to eat at Knighton Hall. For myself, I could not have eaten a thing.

~

“I don’t believe it,” Much exclaimed as we headed back towards the forest. “Run out of Locksley. Turned away by Edward. What is going on? And when,” he added, viciously kicking a clod of earth, “am I going to get something to eat?”

Unbelievably, we spent the night in Sherwood Forest.

Jasmina remained in high spirits despite our setbacks. The forest could be our home she said and we could sleep beneath the stars. After I told her about the English climate, however, her enthusiasm waned.

Never one to stay downhearted for long, she soon invented a game of running ahead of us, hiding behind a tree and then jumping out at us with a squeal. I joined in with her games for a while in an effort to shake off my unhappiness; that is, until my side began to ache and I realised I’d pushed myself too hard. It had been several months since the king’s would-be assassin, a Saracen, stabbed me, but my wound was still apt to twinge and burn if I overdid things.

Much meanwhile continued to bemoan the fact that he had not eaten and that it was coming on night.

“At least in the Holy Land I had a tent,” he grumbled.

I have to admit that as twilight fell I was beginning to wonder where we could spend a halfway comfortable night.

Happily, we found a cave.

It was cold, dark, and full of bats. Much didn’t like it at all and let loose some foul language that made me block Jasmina’s young ears. In the end, though, he conceded that it was preferable to sleeping in the open.

He gathered some brushwood and managed to light a feeble fire while Jasmina and I poked about in the gloomy cave wondering where best to lie and checking nothing more sinister than bats was lurking in its depths. We stuck closely together because Jasmina was frightened of the dark and, truth be told, I don’t like the dark either.

“‘Well,” Much grumbled, rubbing life into his cold hands over the crackling flames, “I suppose I’d better go find something to eat before I starve to death.”

Jasmina poked me in the ribs before I could make some witty remark: the chance of Much starving to death was about as likely as me failing to win the Silver Arrow in the archery contest held in Nottingham each year, back when I used to compete, of course.

Much sighed, grabbed his bow and, whinging loudly, set off into the forest. I didn’t like the idea of him going off alone – he’d probably lose his way back to the cave – but I couldn’t leave Jasmina either. 

In the end, we all went. 

Much didn’t catch a thing and my deadly aim proved not so deadly for once. Cursing his bad luck, Much made do with a few berries for supper. I was glad not to eat them, even though I knew they weren’t poisonous; from the way Much screwed up his face as he chewed and swallowed, I guessed they didn’t taste too good.

Night fell and we settled down to sleep.

Jasmina and I spoke in hushed whispers until Much finally nodded off. Then she snuggled into my chest and wrapped her arms around me, as she did most nights. I stroked her hair and she kissed me goodnight – a soft brush of her lips to each cheek and then one on the end of my nose.

Occasionally, she chose to kiss my desert-chapped lips. I told her that she shouldn’t, though in truth I did little to discourage it, much to my shame – Jasmina was young enough to be my daughter. If Much was aware of what we did, he never let on.

Tonight, sensing her about to kiss my lips, I covered her mouth with my bow-calloused fingers and shook my head no. It felt even more wrong here than it did as we lay together in Acre, shortly before the boat brought us back to England.

She gave me a puzzled look, but, ever willing to please me, accepted my refusal, instead nuzzling into my neck and whispering goodnight, first in Arabic and then in English.

It turned out not to be a good night, as Much’s empty stomach rumbled and growled through most of it and Jasmina and I hardly slept a wink.

 


	4. A Shock for Robin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arriving in Nottingham, Robin receives a nasty shock.

**A Shock for Robin**

After his miserable supper of berries, which had led, unsurprisingly, to an upset stomach, Much was looking forward to finding some decent food in Nottingham.

All I wanted were some answers. 

Finding out that Marian had married – even though I knew deep down that it was probably inevitable given the amount of time I’d been gone – had put me in a foul mood that morning, and neither Much’s amusing monologues, nor Jasmina’s tinkling laughter as she skipped through the forest, could lift my spirits. All I could think about was that I’d made a complete mess of things.

Much was in a hurry to get to Nottingham, reminding me, as well as every skulking squirrel and ear-twitching rabbit, that it was market day and that even without coin he should be able to coax one or two of the market vendors to part with a badly bruised apple or some gristly bit of meat. I had trouble keeping up with him. However, I knew that no matter where he went, even if I lost sight of him, I would find him again. The bond we had formed over the years was far too strong for something as simple as distance, or a few hundred trees, to come between us.

“Come on, old man,” Jasmina called, waving at me.

She jumped over a log, almost fell into a bush and laughed. I laughed too. It was hard to be downcast for long with Jasmina around.  Perhaps that’s why I let her travel with us.

“At last!” Much shouted, pumping his fist in the air as we stepped out of the shady forest and onto the open grassland that separated Sherwood from the walls surrounding Nottingham.

Jasmina pointed and then turned to me. “That is Nottingham Castle, no?”

“No. I mean, yes.”

I winked and she screwed up her face in bafflement, failing to understand I was gently teasing her manner of speaking.

Nottingham Castle. 

To Jasmina it meant tales of bold knights, fair maidens and all-powerful kings. 

To me it meant a step closer to the woman I loved.

~ 

Much disappeared almost the moment we arrived, determined to fill his empty belly.

Jasmina eyed the market and declared the various stalls and their wares so much less interesting than those in her homeland, though she cheered considerably when she came upon a crate of chickens. Pulling on my shirtsleeve, she bade me to crouch beside her while she petted the foul-smelling birds. I didn’t like to tell her that they were bound for someone’s chopping block.

As Jasmina poked and giggled at the crated fowl, I scanned the marketplace. Nowhere did I see Marian. I mentally kicked myself. Of course she would not be here. She was married to the new master of Locksley, to a man who worked for the Sheriff of Nottingham, quite possibly his treasurer or scribe or master-at-arms. She would have servants to shop for their victuals and other personal needs.

I turned back to the chickens wondering if I could free one of them and give it to Jasmina without the owner noticing. It was a foolish notion, almost as foolish as expecting to see Marian among the noisy, smelly, jostling crowds and their equally noisy, smelly, jostling beasts and birds.

Lightly touching Jasmina’s arm, I suggested to her that we should go seek Much.

Jasmina nodded and, blowing the chickens a kiss, stood up.

“Aren’t you coming?” she asked when I failed to follow her.

“Marian,” I said. I rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I wasn’t.

Towards the far side of the market was Marian; taller, with womanly curves and longer hair, but still my Marian, the girl I had chased after and teased and promised to marry. She was alone. I couldn’t believe my luck. I glanced around, wondering if Much had seen her too, but he was nowhere in sight.   

I began to walk towards her, my heart pounding, my breaths coming fast and furious. She was talking to a cloth merchant, examining his goods, and did not see me approaching.

I was within three or so yards of her when someone yanked on my shirt, dragging me backwards. I spun around to find Jasmina. I’d forgotten all about her in my eagerness to talk to Marian.

“You cannot,” she said, shaking her head sadly, her words little more than a whisper.

For the first time since we had met, I wished Jasmina were somewhere else.

“I know.” I loosed a sigh that went all the way to my boots. “I just want her to know that I made a mistake; that I should never have gone to war, never left her.”

“Even if she allows you to speak to her,” Jasmina said, clutching my knife-belt. “It will not change things. She has a new life with a husband and a home; maybe there are even children. Do you not think it best to leave her alone?”

I hung my head, defeated, and Jasmina let go of my belt, saying, “Let’s go find Much, see if he is stuffing himself with bruised apples or giggly bits of meat.”

“Gristly,” I amended, blinking away unbidden tears.

While Jasmina practised saying gristly, adding it to her ever-growing English vocabulary, I turned around to observe Marian.

My heart gave a jolt.

She was talking to a man who, by the way he had his black-gloved fingers wrapped around her wrist, could only be her husband, the new master of Locksley.

In my wild imaginings yesterday, I had conjured up all manner of husbands for her, but never did I imagine that she would marry the dark-haired, sombre, quarrelsome youth of my childhood. I had always believed that when I sent him and his sister Isabella away from Locksley, shortly after my father and his mother Ghislaine and her leper husband died in a house fire, I would never see Guy of Gisborne again. Yet here he was, as large as life. Still dressed in his habitual black, but predominantly leather instead of the woollens he wore as a boy, the corners of his mouth turned up in that disdainful sneer of his, aimed at the peasants milling about the market.

A scowl crossed Marian’s face and she shook her wrist free of his grip. She looked up to meet his scrutiny and Guy’s sneer rearranged itself into a genuine smile, one of the few I have ever seen him give.

My heart gave another jolt, this time of surprise. He loved her.

Jasmina hissed at me to not be a stupid idiot, but I ignored her and quickly slipped behind a curtain of material so I could listen to Marian and Guy’s conversation unseen.

“You were away longer than I expected.”

“Business, Marian. Just business. Did you miss me?”

“Can we go to Locksley when I am done here?” she asked, ignoring Guy’s question.

“Yes, if that’s what you wish. My meeting with the sheriff can wait and I would prefer to be sharing a bed with you in Locksley than spending the night in my cold, draughty chambers in the castle.”

Marian smiled and lightly kissed him on the cheek.

Jasmina meanwhile had sprinted over to my hiding place. Tugging on my arrow-stuffed quiver, she begged me to come with her. I gave her a small shove and told her to go away.

“You are a sourpuss today,” she said, shoving me back. “I do not like you when you are like this. I am going to talk to my chicken friends.”

With that, she skipped away, her dark curls bouncing with every upward hop.   

I felt bad about being mean to her, but I did not want her company. Nor did I wish to listen to Much’s bellyaching about being hungry, or his complaining about whatever scraps he’d managed to beg from the market traders. Finding out that Marian had married the boy I had tolerated at best and despised at worse was more than I could bear at that moment. I wanted to be alone.

Marian was again exchanging pleasantries with the cloth merchant and he was holding up samples of his wares.

Looking bored, Guy leaned in and whispered something in her ear and, sliding a leathered arm around her waist, steered her purposefully towards a waiting carriage.

I followed at a discreet distance.

Nearing the waiting carriage, Marian stopped and glanced over her shoulder. I ducked behind a cartload of straw. She shook her head when Guy queried if something was the matter and they continued on their way. The last I saw of her was the sweep of her red dress as she climbed into the carriage, closely followed by her husband. A driver clicked the horses to move off and moments later the carriage disappeared around the corner of Battley Street heading for the town gate.  

Not knowing what else to do, I returned to the market.

I spotted Much chewing on a hunk of bread, looking as if he’d died and gone to Heaven. Jasmina had disappeared, perhaps realising that I would prefer to be by myself for a bit. I did not worry for her. We had gone off on our own several times on the journey back to England, she to pray for her dead parents or to play with other children, me to brood, but we always managed to find each other again, as though some ethereal thread linked her to me and vice versa.

Without Jasmina to chastise me or otherwise and Much happily eating, I decided to make myself scarce.

Behind the nearby butcher’s shop was a small grain store. The door was open, so I went inside.

It was musty in there. The open doorway let in a small amount of light, but towards the back of the store it was close to darkness. I picked my way between sacks of grain and barrels of flour, heading for the shadows.

Once I had gone as far as I was able, I dropped to my knees. It was the first time I’d been alone since they dragged me from the king’s tent, bleeding and reeling from the pain scorching through my side where the assassin had stabbed me. With no one to see or hear me, I caved in to my hurt, sobbing like a child.

It did not take Jasmina long to find me.

Crawling into my hiding place, she snuggled into my chest, as though to absorb the pain that raged there.

“I’m sorry I called you a sourpuss, Robin.”

I hugged her to me and pressed my face into her mass of dark curls.

“It’s a good word,” I said. “Did you talk to your chicken friends?”

“Yes. And do you know what they said?”

“What did they say?”

“Cluck.”

Laughing softly, I eased her away from me and then kissed her on the nose. “Thank you for finding me.”

“Cluck, cluck,” Jasmina said, breaking into girlish giggles. 

 


	5. Robin Talks and Listens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin tells Jasmina about his and Guy's boyhood in Locksley and, later, hears a few things he wishes he hadn't.

“Sorry.” I wiped my tear-stained face on my sleeve. “Grown men aren’t supposed to cry.”

“I have seen lots of men crying, including my father,” Jasmina said, in that matter-of-fact, uninhibited way that children have of speaking. “Or did you forget that I was in Acre, too? I don’t see why men shouldn’t cry if they are hurt or upset about something. Much is _always_ crying.”

“That’s true,” I said, summoning up a small smile. “And when he’s not crying, he’s hungry or complaining; sometimes all three at once.”

Jasmina grinned, little dimples blooming on her dusky cheeks.

“He is truly a funny fellow, but I like him. Nearly as much as I like you, Robin.”

I got to my feet, my legs aching after kneeling on the hard floor of the grain store.

“I know that man.”

“What man?” Jasmina asked.

“Marian’s husband. His name is Guy. I knew him as a boy. We both lived in Locksley for a while.”

“Is that why you were crying? Because your lady love married your best friend?”

I snorted, unable to contain my scorn. “Guy was never my best friend. We played together because our families encouraged us to spend time with each other. In truth, we mostly argued; sometimes we even came to blows. Guy was ill-natured and had a violent temper, cruel, too. He used to pull the wings off flies and the legs off spiders so he could watch the poor things suffer.”

Jasmina pushed out her lower lip and then said, “That is a horrible thing to do.”

A ripple of guilt ran through me as I recalled some of the less than kind things I said and did to Guy.

“It was,” I agreed. “But he was a child and I don’t think we should judge him on such childish misdeeds. The truth is—” I shook my head as if to shake away my thoughts. I didn’t want to dwell on my boyhood in Locksley.

“What is the truth?” Jasmina asked, staring up at me with those inquisitive brown eyes of hers.  

I thought of Much, voicing his woes, both large and small. Although he never said so, I gained the impression that he always felt better for having disclosed what was on his mind or in his heart; not that I paid him much attention, I guiltily realised.

Patting a large sack of grain, I bade Jasmina to sit next to me; I thought it would be easier to confide in her if she were not looking directly at me.

“I’m going to tell you a few things about me. And about Guy.” I took a deep breath and then exhaled, slowly, uncertain where to start.

Jasmina fidgeted, trying to get comfortable on the lumpy sack of grain. Her legs dangled. I noticed a dusting of spilled flour on her worn leather shoes. It reminded me of a patch of powdery earth by my mother’s grave, the grass worn away by my constant visits.

 “I know what it’s like to lose your mother at a young age,” I began, “because I lost my mother when I was only ten summers old.”

Jasmina went very still, doubtless recalling the loss of her parents. I was sorry I had mentioned my mother’s passing, but I had said it now, so I carried on.

 “After she died, I wasn’t very nice to Guy. I wasn’t very nice to anyone. I guess I just wanted to take out my anger on someone. With no brothers or sisters to torment, I took it out on Guy. I was always teasing him and I used to blame him for mistakes that I made.”

I recalled the Catherine wheel in Locksley and the arrow I shot, the one I grabbed from Guy’s hand, which was instrumental in bringing the huge wooden structure down, nearly killing Swain. Guy got the blame because it was his black-fletched arrow that hit the wheel. He protested his innocence and I mine. My lie shames me to this day.  

Jasmina laid her child’s hand over my adult one in a gesture of understanding.

“I think,” she said, “you were most unhappy after your mother died; that is why you were mean to this Guy. Maybe he, too, was unhappy. Perhaps that is why he was ill-natured and hurt those poor flies and spiders. Were his parents cruel to him?”

“No. His mother was a lovely lady. And his father was away from home, fighting in the Holy Land.”

“Perhaps then he missed his father the way you missed your mother? Perhaps that is why he was so disagreeable.”

I turned to Jasmina. “You know, you have an old head on young shoulders.”

She frowned in puzzlement.

“It means you think and talk like an older person who has had more experience of life,” I explained.

“So,” Jasmina said, crinkling her nose the way she did when she was thinking hard about something. “You were both mean to each other as children. But you are not mean now you are a grown up. So maybe Guy is also not mean any more. Surely your lady love would not have married him if he were a monster.”

“I guess not. Unless she had no choice in the matter.”

I wondered again about Edward. He’d always struck me as a kindly, fair-minded man, yet he had turned us away from Knighton as though we were about to bring the plague into his home. Might he also then have agreed to a marriage for his daughter that was not of Marian’s choosing? What had he said?

“ _I will have nothing to do with anyone who might oppose the new sheriff’s authority.”_

Had Marian opposed the new sheriff? She had always been an outspoken girl, full of opinions and not afraid to express them to anyone who would listen, even those of high rank. Perhaps she had become too much for Edward to handle and he had off-loaded her on someone he felt might keep her in check. Then I recalled Marian’s smile and her kissing Guy on the cheek and wondered if I was making something out of nothing.

“You are right,” I said, acknowledging Jasmina’s words. “I cannot imagine Marian willingly marrying anyone she disliked. I think she would sooner don men’s clothing and run away to sea.”

Jasmina turned away from me, looking towards the open doorway.

“The market is closing. Should we not go look for Much now?”

I nodded and, holding hands, we left the grain store and headed back to the marketplace.

~

We couldn’t find Much anywhere.

“I’m sure he’ll be all right,” Jasmina said brightly. “He is a grown up, after all, and can look after himself. You don’t need to follow him everywhere he goes.”

She glanced around the market. Most of the stalls had been cleared of their remaining goods and packed away.

“What shall we do now?”

“I want to go to Locksley,” I replied.

“But we already went there. And you have seen your lady, which is why you came back here in the first place, is it not?”

“I came here to find out what had become of Marian; that is true. But I still do not know whether she is happy or not.”

Jasmina frowned. “You are being silly. If she is happy then I think you will still be sad because she will be happy with a boy you used to fight with and did not like. And if she is unhappy, then you will be even sadder, and I think it will be too much for me to have both you and Much crying all the time.”

I poked her in the arm. “If Saladin is half as smart as you then King Richard might as well surrender now.”

She was right, of course. If Marian was not happy in her marriage, then what? I could hardly unmarry her from Guy.

“I’m still going to Locksley,” I said.

Jasmina rolled her eyes the way she’d seen Much do.

“But first,” I told her, “I want to find out about this new sheriff. There was a sense of fear in that marketplace; I felt it.”

“We are not in Acre now,” Jasmina pointed out.

“Also,” I continued, ignoring her remark, “did you see the way everyone cowered when Guy got near to them, as though they expected him to lash out at them?”

“Well, you did say he had a temper.”

“He also works for this new sheriff,” I reminded her.

“So, what will you do? Go to the castle, yes?”

I shook my head. “No. If you want to find out what’s going on in Nottingham then the Trip Inn is the place to go.”

~

I told Jasmina that the inn was no place for a young girl and she was to wait outside. She pushed out her lip in annoyance as I handed her my bow and quiver. I went to unsheathe my scimitar and then remembered that I no longer wore it, that I had left it behind, in Acre.

“I will not be long,” I promised.

The Trip was packed, but I managed to find some standing room in a shadowy alcove near to the bar. From there I could observe the whole room. I recognised a few of the drinkers and serving girls, but most were strangers to me, a reminder of how long I had been away from home.

I did not have to wait long before I learned about Edward’s replacement – Sheriff Vaisey.

As I listened to tales of woe from butcher to baker to ploughman, it quickly became obvious that Vaisey cared nothing for the populace and everything about getting his hands on their money in the form of taxes. Those taxes, I learned from the loudmouthed tavern keeper, most probably made their way into the sheriff’s own pocket or the coffers of Prince John, who seemed intent on stealing the throne while his brother King Richard fought to reclaim Jerusalem for Christendom.

I heard talk of tongues being cut out, of threat and intimidation, of children being used as bargaining tools to ensure the compliance of their parents. Worse, I heard that Marian’s husband, Guy, carried out much of this at the behest of the sheriff. I wondered if Marian knew and, if she did, why she would choose to ignore it. Then I wondered if his threats also extended to her and I could barely breathe for the thought.

Glancing towards the unshuttered window at the front of the inn, I saw Jasmina duck down. She had been spying on me.

Moments later, she darted into the tavern, weaving between the laughing, arguing, dice-playing, beer-swilling men and women.

“Father,” she said, pulling on my arm. “It’s time to leave.”

She was right. I had heard enough and far more than I wanted to.

I came to my feet and followed her as she wove her way back through drinkers and tables and chairs. Though I was tempted to try to steal a goblet of ale on my way out, I resisted. I had enough worries without adding thief to the list.  

“Jasmina,” I chided as we hurried away. “You should not have said that. I am not your father.”

“It was, how you say, a joke. That is the right word, joke, yes? Sometimes you act as if you are my father – Jasmina don’t do this, Jasmina don’t do that. Besides,” she added, “no one heard me.”

“I did,” I said.

“You always hear me because you listen,” she said. “It’s just other grown-ups who do not.”

Will you hear me, Marian, I wondered. Will you listen to what I have to say when I tell you about your husband’s cruel practices, or will you block your ears, push me away?

There was only one way to find out.

 

 


	6. Robin Spies on Marian and Guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin wants to learn more about Marian's marriage to Guy and decides a bit of spying is in order.

**Robin Spies on Marian and Guy**

It was late evening by the time we reached Locksley and I feared Guy and Marian might already be in bed. We would have made better time, but Jasmina fell short of breath during the last couple of miles and I had to carry her.

“Are they in there?” Jasmina asked as we cautiously approached the manor house.

I nodded and put a finger to my lips even though I was sure that neither Guy nor Marian could hear us.

Despite the evening chill, the hall’s shutters were open. I could see Marian standing in front of the great hearth, staring at a dying fire.

Grabbing Jasmina’s hand, I pulled her towards one of the open windows. Together we crouched below it.

“I am going to look and listen and you are going to sit beside me and be quiet,” I told her.

She nodded in agreement and, sitting cross-legged, her back against the wall, she regarded the sleepy village of Locksley and the setting sun. A few moments later, her eyes closed and she fell asleep, her head resting on my upper arm, pressing against my tattoo of the Jerusalem Cross hidden under my shirtsleeve.

Looking at the peacefully sleeping child, I was sorely tempted to forget this madness and quietly slip away from Locksley and from the woman I could never have; but hearing Guy speaking to Marian about some domestic arrangement changed my mind. I wanted to know why she had ended up with him, indeed, why he had ended up back in Nottingham, working for the much-hated Sheriff Vaisey.

Taking care not to wake Jasmina, I inched up the wall and peered over the windowsill.

Guy was standing by the large oak table – I recognised it as the one belonging to my father and then to me – goblet in hand. I watched as he reached for a jug and poured red wine into the goblet. From the high colour on his cheeks I guessed it to be his second or third at least.

I licked my lips. I hadn’t tasted wine in a long time.

Marian shivered and turned around. She walked over to the table and poured herself a goblet of wine. The only time I had seen her drink un-watered wine was at a wedding in nearby Nettlestone when I’d issued her a dare. I rested my forehead on the window ledge, feeling as if I were fighting for breath. My Marian had gone from being a girl to a woman and I had missed it.

Jasmina sighed in her sleep. Kissing the top of her head, I gently eased her to the ground and then returned to my spying.

Marian took a few sips of wine, placed her goblet on the table and turned to Guy, a determined look on her face.

“You have told me nothing of your business in London. Did your meeting with the other Black Knights go well?”

She stole a glance towards the open window and I ducked down, my heart racing, my breathing shallow.

I heard footsteps – Marian’s from their light tread – and then the shutters banged shut. It did not thwart me, however, as there was a large knothole in one of the wooden panels – the reason I’d chosen this window to spy through – and I was still able to see much of the hall when I peered through it.

“As I have told you many times before, Marian, this does not concern you.”

Guy was clearly in an ill temper. He took another gulp of wine and then wiped his chin with the back of his hand. It was clear he had not slept well of late. Nor had he had much time to tend to his personal needs, the beginnings of a beard clearly visible on his pale face.

“Surely all things concerning you, my husband, concern me,” she said, lightly touching him on the arm.

He turned towards her and his face softened.

“I am sorry. It has been a somewhat thankless few days. My meetings were inconclusive because two of the key Black Knights were not in attendance despite the invitation going out to them several months ago. The sheriff will not be best pleased.”

He took another swig of wine and then slammed his empty goblet onto the table.

“So, the sheriff’s plans are no further advanced?”

Marian’s tone was nonchalant, as though the answer mattered little to her, but something in her manner, something perhaps only I would notice, suggested to me that she desperately wanted to know more. I’d seen and heard her query her father many times on his duties and on things that a young woman should not trouble herself with. When her father remained tight-lipped, Marian would pretend indifference. In that way, she often got the information she wanted out of Edward without him realising her deceit.

I rocked back on my heels, wondering who the Black Knights were and what the sheriff’s plans might be. Almost certainly, they had something to do with Prince John’s intrigues to steal his brother’s throne.

“Let’s go to bed,” Guy said, changing the subject. “It has been a long day and I am tired.”

The look on his face, however, suggested that sleep was not uppermost in his mind right then.

“Not tonight, Guy, if you don’t mind.”

Marian picked up their goblets, as though to clear them away. Guy batted them out of her hands. His empty one skittered across the table and smacked onto the stone floor. Marian’s half-filled one showered the table with red wine before similarly hitting the floor.

“What excuse do you have this time, woman? It cannot be your blood time because that was last week.”

Marian’s eyes darted around the room as though searching for a suitable answer. It occurred to me that perhaps she had seen me earlier and knew I was crouched under the shuttered window. Was she waiting for me to burst in and rescue her, or was she hoping to coax Guy into saying more about the sheriff’s plans so I might hear and act accordingly? I bit my lip in frustration. I could no more rescue her from what appeared to be an unhappy marriage than I could strip Vaisey of his title and restore Edward to his former seat as Sheriff of Nottingham.

Not waiting for her answer, Guy continued talking and, feeling powerless, I listened.

“I think you do not want us to continue the Gisborne name. I think—”

“You think too much, Guy,” Marian cut across him. Again, she glanced in my direction, her brows contracted in puzzlement.

“I think,” he continued, his voice a low growl, his eyes blazing, “that if your precious Robin of Locksley were here you would make sure of a child – every night!” He almost spat the final two words and Marian flinched and took a step backwards.

After witnessing the look of love he’d given her in the market square, I could hardly believe this was the same man. Yet I recalled that violent temper of his. I’d seen the way he’d treated his younger sister, Isabella, and I’d been at the receiving end of many of his angry outbursts, occasionally with a bruise to show for it.

“Robin is not here,” Marian said, smoothing her skirts. “And it is you I married. But you should be careful, Guy,” she added, a note of defiance creeping into her voice. “When Robin returns he will want his house and lands back.”

“ _If_ Robin returns.”

“People assume he must have lost his life in the Holy Land because he has been away for so long,” Marian said. She picked up the two pewter goblets from the floor and stood them on the wine-stained table. “But you and I both know that the war continues and that King Richard still aims to take back Jerusalem. Robin would not leave his king, no matter what, not until Richard has triumphed.”

“Your point being?”

“When the war is done Robin will come home and when he does we will be homeless.”

Marian sounded almost happy about the fact, but if Guy noticed, he did not remark on it, instead saying, “That is why I must continue to work for the sheriff. To secure our future, Marian. To ensure that we have enough money so you will want for nothing.”

At his words, she bit her lip and laid a soothing hand on his arm. “I am sorry. I know you only have my...our, best interests at heart. I just wish there was another way. I despise the sheriff and I hate the fact that you—”

Guy put a finger to her lips, shushing her. “Forgive me for shouting at you. I am disheartened and have had too much to drink. I love you, Marian, with all my heart.”

“I know.”

He pulled her into a loving embrace and she laid her head on his chest allowing him to stroke her long hair.

“Bed?” he suggested.

Marian nodded.

I turned and slid down the wall, tears pricking my eyes. 

A heartbeat later, Jasmina was crouching in front of me, rubbing her tired eyes.

“You are sad, Robin, yes?”

“A little,” I confessed.

“Because you wish it were you in there with your lady love and not the man in black?”

I nodded.

Jasmina handed me my bow. “Can we leave now? I am so sleepy.”

I wiped my eyes and listened. Guy, or maybe Marian, was blowing out the various candles dotted about the hall.

“Yes,” I said. “We can go now.”

“Will you carry me?” she asked. “I feel all wobbly and strange.”

“You are tired,” I said, hoping this was indeed the case. I had never seen Jasmina lacking in vitality, no matter how late the hour. “It has been a long day.” I scooped her up in my arms. “Comfortable?”

She nodded and laid her head against my chest, closing her eyes.

As I reached the top of the grassy hill overlooking Locksley, I turned for a final look at the manor house. It was in darkness, apart from a glimmer of light coming from the upper floor, from what had once been my bedchamber.

 


	7. Much Makes a Friend or Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Jasmina find Much a little worse for wear.

**Much Makes a Friend or Two**

It was dark by the time we reached Nottingham. I had carried Jasmina all the way and my injured side was killing me. She had opened her eyes several times along the road and drowsily offered to walk, but I had shaken my head and told her she was fine, I could manage.

“Where is Much?” she asked as I eased her from my aching arms.

I glanced around the deserted marketplace. “I expect he’s begged a room for the night, or a bed, at least. It’s a chilly night and Much hates being cold.”

Scratching my bearded chin, I wondered who of the friends we had had in Nottingham prior to our departure for the Holy Land might have taken Much in; I doubted many would have opened the door to a crusader knight with nothing to show for his troubles but an empty pouch and an even emptier belly.  

“What shall we do? Should we go find him?”

“Sorry?” Distracted by shouts and guffaws coming from the nearby Trip Inn, I hadn’t been paying attention to Jasmina.

“Robin? Is it trouble?”

I smiled at her. “No. Listen.”

Jasmina cupped a hand behind her ear and listened. “All I hear are loud voices and...oh, now I hear it.”

Above the din of the Trip’s patrons, we could hear Much tunelessly singing a song that he and I used to sing under our breath on some of the long and tedious marches we made in the Holy Land after conversation had dried up and before our saliva did.

I sang a few discordant notes in imitation and she giggled.

“He is a rubbish singer, isn’t he?”

“One of the worst,” I said. “I had to warn him against singing in the Holy Land whenever the king came calling on our tent for fear that Richard would hand him over to Saladin’s army.”

Jasmina grinned, her perfectly straight little teeth standing out whitely on her olive-skinned face. “Maybe your enemy would have surrendered if that had happened.”

Taking her hand, I led her down a narrow street that ran alongside the inn. There was one small window on that side of the building. It was open, so I peered inside, hoping to spot Much in the noisy, crowded room.

Luck was on my side. Much was standing near to the window, his back to me. In front of him was an ale-stained table upon which stood several empty mugs. A sandy-haired young man, presumably Much’s drinking companion, was advising Much to shut up and sit down before someone decided to put a fist in his face.  

“Not being funny, my friend, but singing for your supper is likely to earn you a less than tasty mouthful of teeth. I said I was happy to stump up for your drinks and meal seeing as you helped me fool those drinkers at cups.”

Much sat down. “Robin taught me the trick of that game. When we were in our tent we used to use goblets as cups and...” He trailed off, his eyes widening at the sight of a serving girl plonking a plate of pie and cheese in front of him.

“Eat up, my friend,” advised Much’s companion, waving a hand at the food, “and save your singing for the bath tub.”

Much needed no encouragement. He crammed the pie and cheese into his mouth as though he hadn’t seen food for a month.

Jasmina tugged on my shirtsleeve. “Will we wait here?”

I nodded. “Yes. As I said before, a rowdy tavern is no place for a young girl and a Saracen at that.” I gave her a sideways glance. “Are you still tired? Would you rather I found you somewhere to sleep? I can easily come back here later.”

Jasmina shook her head. “No. I will stay here with you, keep you company.”

“You should close your ears, then,” I said. “Men can say ugly, foul things when they have had too much to drink.”

Jasmina grinned and stuck her fingers in her ears. “Happy now?”

I chuckled and returned to my spying. I had already learned previously about the despotic Sheriff Vaisey and about Guy’s cruel practices, but I hoped that further eavesdropping might give me some information about the mysterious Black Knights Marian had mentioned. I wanted to know whether Guy’s involvement with these persons posed any danger to her.

Much’s companion, who went by the name of Allan a-Dale, seemed a pleasant enough fellow. He bought Much another drink to wash down his food, as well as one for himself.

“So, where you been all this time?” Allan asked in response to Much mumbling something about how things had changed in Nottingham since he’d lived in the shire some six years ago and not for the better.

“Fighting with King Richard in the Holy Land,” Much said, puffing out his chest.

“Nah, you’re having me on.”

“It’s true. I was there with my master. We were in the king’s personal guard. We—”

“I’d shut up about the king if I were you,” Allan cut across him in a hissed whisper. “King Richard has enemies here in Nottingham.”

“Who?” Much asked.

“The sheriff, for starters.”

“How do you know that?”

“Let’s just say I spent a bit of time enjoying the view from the castle dungeons – a case of mistaken identity I’ll have you know. While I was there, I happened to hear a few things.”

“Like what?”

“Like it’s better to keep your head down and your mouth shut.”

“Now look here,” Much said, full of righteous anger. “My master and I—”

“Given him the slip, have you?” Allan grinned.

“I’ll have you know I’m a free man. My master is not here. He is with—”

Allan laughed, rocking back in his chair, drowning out whatever Much was going to say. “You’re a free man with a master. Now there’s a thing.”

Much half rose out of his chair, bristling at the suggestion that he was some kind of simpleton. He leaned across the table, his face mere inches from Allan’s. “If Robin were here right now he would...he would...”

“He would what?” Allan prompted.

Much simply glared, unable to think of what I might do to this cheeky young man given the chance.

“Well your Robin had better keep his head down too. The longer the sheriff doesn’t know about you two, the longer you can get away without paying taxes.”

“Robin of Locksley does not pay taxes,” Much said. “And no money-grabbing sheriff is going to make me pay them either. That is until I get my lodge at Bonchurch when, of course, I shall be a wealthy, not to mention, titled man and—”

“Did you hear that, Will?” Allan turned to a dark-haired, sombre-looking young man sitting at the next table. It was Will Scarlett, quite grown up since I’d last seen him, whiskerless and whittling wood with his younger brother. “Robin of Locksley, the Earl of bleeding Huntington, is back. Maybe things are about to get better around here.”

Will lifted his mug in salute.

A clattering of hooves caught my attention, Jasmina’s too. We watched as a small contingent of guards rode past the inn heading towards the castle. At their head, seated on a white mare, was a short, bald-headed man wearing a black cloak trimmed with ermine. I wondered if he was the despicable Sheriff Vaisey.

“Wait here,” I told Jasmina.

I sprinted off after the horses.

Crouching had made my legs stiff and my injured side was still hurting, so I could not run as fast as usual. I tried to take a short cut by heading down Battley Street, but I wasn’t quick enough. As I rounded the corner, the castle ahead of me, I saw the last of the group of riders trotting through the castle gates. The gates swung shut and I heard the heavy bar slam down, locking the castle entrance.

I thought about finding another way in but quickly changed my mind. I did not want to leave Jasmina sitting outside the tavern worrying about where I might have gone.

“What did I miss?” I asked, resuming my crouched position under the window.

“A few things. That Allan is a thief. I saw him pick a man’s pocket. Much started to sing again and someone thumped him on the arm. That shut him up. Will bought him another drink to console him. I think he might be very drunk by now, Robin. He does not look well.”

As if to confirm her words, Much made to stand and staggered, almost falling into Allan’s lap. Allan helped him back onto his chair, which he promptly slid off.

“Oh dear,” Jasmina said.

“Indeed,” I added.

Allan and Will exchanged a few words I couldn’t hear. Then, between them, they yanked Much to his feet and half-dragged him towards the tavern door.

“My place or yours?” I heard Allan asking Will.

“Yours. It’s nearer.”

Outside, the fresh air roused Much a little and he managed to walk, with Allan and Will supporting him.

By now, I had concluded that the Black Knights were something only the sheriff, his allies and Guy knew about, but it was still possible that Allan might have heard about them during his incarceration in the castle dungeons. He’d told Much that Richard had enemies here in Nottingham and that one of those enemies was the sheriff. A tongue loosened by drink might reveal a little more about Richard’s other enemies, namely the Black Knights.

“What shall we do now?” Jasmina asked.

“Let’s follow them, see where they go and what they say on the way there. We might learn and thing or two.” I took hold of Jasmina’s cold little hand. “Do you think you can manage to walk a bit more?”

She nodded and we chased after the three men, hugging the night shadows and straining our ears to hear their conversation.

Much started singing again, a melancholy song about lost love and a life of loneliness.

“How about we leave him in the street?” Allan said to Will. “Only, my eardrums are starting to bleed.”

“Don’t be cruel,” Will replied. “The poor man’s been away fighting for king and country for nearly five years. He’s entitled to a mug or two of Nottingham’s best ale and a sing-song.”

“Well, as long as his sing-song doesn’t require a bucket, I guess he can stay with us.”

Much stopped singing and lapsed into incoherent mumbling which his two guardian angels could easily talk over.

“Do you think the Night Watchman will come tonight?” Will asked his friend.

“Don’t know, mate.”

“Well, I sure hope he does. The tax collector’s due tomorrow and I don’t have near enough to give him.”

“Have you ever noticed,” Allan said, shoving Much through a doorway that I presumed were the cutpurse’s lodgings, “that whenever Gisborne’s back in town the Night Watchman doesn’t come out so often?”

“Can’t say I have,” Will replied.

“It’s funny, don’t you think?”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m not saying nothing like. Still, makes you think.”

“You think too much, Allan.”

‘You reckon?’

They disappeared inside the house.

I had learned nothing of the Black Knights, but now I had another mystery on my hands: the Night Watchman.

“I hope Much will be all right,” Jasmina said.

“They seem a decent sort. I don’t think Much is going to come to any harm if he hangs around with these two,” I reassured her.

“That Allan might rob him.”

“Much doesn’t have two pennies to rub together. As long as he doesn’t snore too much, I expect Allan will let him sleep off his drunken stupor unmolested.”

Not knowing where else to go, we headed back to the grain store. Fortunately, the door was still wide open.

“This is better than that horrible cave, isn’t it, Robin?”

“Less bats,” I said with a smile.

  


	8. A Visit to Locksley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin wants to speak to Marian, but it's not proving easy.

**A Visit to Locksley**

“Will we go and find Much now?” Jasmina asked.

She jumped down from the pile of filled sacks she’d been happily scrambling over.

Yawning, I made my way to the open door and gazed heavenwards, admiring the rosy dawn sky. 

“I expect Much is still asleep,” I said. “It’s early and he had a bellyful of ale last evening. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a very sore head today.”

“I know. It just feels odd not to be with him.”

I agreed with her. It did feel strange not having Much around. He and I had hardly spent a moment away from each other during our time in the Holy Land and the barber-surgeon had to forcibly drag him away from my bedside following my stabbing.

“We will go look for him soon,” I said. “But first I want to go back to Locksley. I need to see Marian.”

Jasmina gave me a pitying look. “You will not try to do anything bad or mean, will you? I know you do not like the man your beloved has married, but you cannot make it not so, can you?”

“I know I can’t. I just want a few moments alone with her, that’s all.”

“And after that?”

“After that we can come back here and find Much.”

“And we will leave Nottingham, yes?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

Jasmina frowned.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Whatever happens with your lady love today, promise me you will not leave me on my own, that we will stay together. Always.”

“We are friends, Jasmina, despite the differences in our age and land of birth. I promised you that we would stick together and we will.” I crouched down, so our faces were level. “You should know that I am a man of honour and have always kept my promises unless there was a good reason I could not.” 

Pleased by my answer, Jasmina darted out of the grain store, calling, “Catch me if you can, old man.”

I smiled a wistful smile as I watched her run across the deserted marketplace; in different circumstances, I might have had my own daughter or son by now.

~

Marian was alone. She was wielding a sword, slicing, blocking and parrying with an invisible adversary, practising the moves I’d once taught Much during our sessions in the forest. She was good. I wondered if it had been her father or her husband who had instructed her. Certainly, I had never had a hand in teaching her how to use a blade, though I had given her a few lessons with the bow when time and chores had permitted.  

I started to walk towards her, heart thudding, mouth as dry as dust.

When I was still several yards away, hidden from view (or so I thought) by lines of drying sheets, she looked up and smiled.

Relief, fear and joy ran through me in equal measure. I was about to run to her when some sixth sense told me I ought to wait, that all was not as I thought it was. Thornton, my old house servant, was hurrying towards her: Marian’s smile had been for him. I crept closer, weaving between the sheets, until I was within earshot.

“My lady,” Thornton wheezed, out of breath.

“What is it, Thornton?”

Marian leaned her sword against a nearby post.

“I’m sorry, my lady. I could not get you the food and medicines you asked for. Sir Guy sent me on an errand and I was unable to get to Nottingham before the town gates closed.”

Marian frowned and then shook her head kindly at Thornton. “No matter. I will go to Nottingham myself tomorrow, perhaps tell Sir Guy that a dress I have ordered is ready to be fitted, and then I can get what I need.”

“Are you sure that is wise, my lady?”

“Thornton, you know what I do and why I do it, and the sick people in Clun cannot wait much longer.”

 Thornton turned and looked in my direction.  

“What is it, Thornton? Are you expecting someone? Is something amiss?”

“No, my lady.”

“It is something, though, isn’t it? I know you well enough by now to know that you are keeping something from me. Is it to do with Sir Guy?”

Thornton shook his head. “We had a visitor, my lady. Someone who used to live here at the manor house. You know the master’s orders. I sent him away.”

Marian walked over to the post where her sword was leaning and put a hand upon it as if to steady herself.

“Was it Robin? Has Robin come back?”

Thornton opened his mouth to elaborate, but, at the sound of thundering hooves, he quickly closed it, looking fearfully in the direction of the horse’s rider.

“Marian!” Guy shouted, reining in his horse sharply and dismounting. “Did you forget our meeting with the sheriff today?”

He strode towards her, giving Thornton a scowl as he did so. Thornton gave a small bow and shuffled backwards. Guy waved a hand at him in dismissal and Thornton turned and walked briskly back to the manor house without a backward glance.

“No, Guy. It’s just...”

Marian shook her head, as though unwilling or unable to say more, and directed her attention to the boot-scuffed ground.

As he reached her, Guy’s scowl became a look of concern. Using his teeth, he pulled a black leather glove from his right hand, tucked it in his belt and tipped up Marian’s chin with his gloveless fingers, forcing her to meet his scrutiny.

“It’s just what? You are pale. Are you well?”

Marian turned her head away. “I am fine. I am—”

“Has it happened at last?” Guy cut across her. His gloveless hand tentatively touched her slim waist, his mouth breaking into a hesitant smile. “Are you with child?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?” he snapped, stepping away from her.

“Nothing. It is nothing. I practised for too long, that is all. I need some water.”

Marian picked up her sword and began striding towards the house, clearly deeming the conversation over. Guy shouted for a boy to see to his horse and then sped after her remonstrating, not for the first time it seemed, on her wasting her time practising sword skills when she had him to protect her from outlaws and vagabonds and such like.

Aware that someone was approaching, I spun round.

It was Jasmina.

“I told you to wait at the top of the hill,” I said.

“I am sorry, Robin. I was worried about you.”

“No, I am sorry,” I said in a kindlier tone. “I should not have left you alone for so long. Why don’t we go back to Nottingham and find Much. You can stay with him and then I can come back here and see Marian.”

Jasmina considered for a moment and then shook her head. “No. The hill is fine. There are many pretty flowers there I can gaze upon. I will stay there until you have done what you have to do.”

I placed my hands on her bony little shoulders and looked into her eyes. “I will not be long. I promise.”

She blew me a kiss, picked up her long skirts and sped off towards the grassy hill overlooking Locksley.

I watched until she was out of sight and then headed for the manor house determined that nothing and no one was going to stop me from speaking to Marian.

 


	9. Another Shock for Robin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin sees something that shocks him to the core.

**Another Shock for Robin**

It was clear from their raised voices that Guy and Marian were arguing.

Still unsure of my intentions, other than my desire to be alone with Marian, I crouched by the window and peered through the knothole in the closed shutters that I’d peered through yesterday.

It seemed they had moved on from the thorny subject of Marian’s sword practise.

“When the council of nobles meets,” Guy was saying, “I expect you to be there, at my side. You cannot possibly have anything more important to do.”

He slammed a goblet onto the table and poured wine from a jug, spilling some of it in his haste.

“I am sorry,” Marian said, tucking stray wisps of hair that had escaped her hairpins behind her ears. “I was busy.”

Guy downed a mouthful of wine and glared at her. “Busy! Marian, we have a house full of servants to be busy. What were you so busy with that you could not attend your husband?”

Marian glanced towards the window. I ducked down even though I knew she could not possibly see me through the closed shutters.

“I was fitting Pegasus with a new saddle. The old one was no longer comfortable and I wanted to make sure this new one was right for him and for me. I lost track of time.”

Her voice betrayed no hint of a lie, though I suspected it was one, or at least only a partial truth.

I returned my eye to the spyhole.

Guy took another mouthful of wine while making his way around the table, closing in on her.

“You spend more time with that damn horse than you do with me.”

“You know I like to ride.”

“Then perhaps you should have married your horse,” he flared, banging his goblet on the table, slopping wine in the process.

“That would not have helped my father, Guy.”

“Your noble, wonderful father,” he sneered. “Perhaps I should remind you about him more often. Perhaps I should remind you that all it would take is a few words from me and the sheriff will learn about your father’s clandestine meetings with his sympathetic noble friends and those cowardly outlaws that roam the forest.”

“My father no longer meets those noble friends you talk of. As to the outlaws, they are simply poor people driven out of their homes by the sheriff for doing nothing more than trying to feed their families. John Little is a good man. They are _all_ good men. Their only crime is despising the sheriff’s crippling taxes and cruel authority.”

Guy eyed his goblet. He picked it up and then put it down again.

“Marian,” he said, tender now, his earlier sneer replaced by an apologetic smile. He placed his bare hands on her sleeved arms and lightly ran them up and down the gold-threaded brocade. “I am sorry for upbraiding you. It has not been an easy day.” 

For all my dislike of the man, I believed his apology sincere.

“The sheriff took great delight in humiliating me at the council meeting,” Guy continued. “I should not have taken out my anger and frustration on you. However, next time I expect you to be there. The sheriff needs to know that we stand together. It is bad enough that I have lied about your father. I do not wish to stand there in front of Nottingham’s elite and lie about my own wife’s activities.”

“You are hurting me,” Marian said, glancing at his hands, which were now gripping her upper arms.

Guy let go with a mumbled apology.

Marian folded her arms across her chest, defensive. “I visit the sick. I offer them comfort and sometimes I take them food from our table that we are too full to eat. Surely there is no harm in that.”

“I want to believe you,” Guy said, searching her face for any hint of deceit, “but there are rumours that you speak to the forest men, rumours that you ride around at night in a disguise handing out medicine and coin, coin stolen from unwary travellers making their way through Sherwood Forest, much of which is destined for the castle coffers.” He gave her a penetrating stare. “Perhaps if I counted my own coin I would find it much depleted.”

Marian laughed, nervously I thought. She slid her arms around Guy’s waist and pecked him on the cheek. “You should not listen to such tittle-tattle. I once told you that I am frightened of the dark. This house would need to be burning around my ears before I would dare go outside at night on my own.”

Guy smiled in obvious relief. He leaned in to kiss her, but Marian swiftly pulled away telling him to save his passion for the bedchamber.

She was lying. Marian has never been afraid of the dark, unlike me. Shortly after her father became sheriff, Marian dared me to sit on the roof of Locksley Manor for an entire night. She asked Much to watch me to ensure that I did not skip back inside the house once she had gone. In return, she promised me a kiss – a proper one on the lips. I never got my kiss. In retaliation, I dared her to do the same, promising to teach her bow skills if she succeeded. My fingers almost bled from hours of showing Marian how to string a bow and loose an arrow after the night she spent up on the roof, admiring the starry sky and laughing at a yawning Much.

“If you will excuse me,” Marian was saying, “I have things to do. It is the Nottingham Fayre in two days time and I must organise my dress and your clothing.”

Without waiting for Guy to dismiss her, she made her way up the staircase that led to the upper floor.

I watched Guy for a moment or two. He picked up his goblet and then changed his mind about drinking, slumping instead into the fireside chair – my chair – in front of a low-burning fire. He closed his eyes with a weary sigh. This was my chance.

Sneaking around to the back of the house, I found an open window and climbed inside.

I was on the upper floor landing, seeking Marian’s whereabouts, when Guy’s heavy footfalls sounded on the stairs. I ducked into a small room adjoining the master bedroom. There was a locked door connecting the two rooms. I put my ear to it to listen.

Marian was obviously showing Guy the dress she intended to wear to the fayre, asking him if he liked it. He remarked that it was a beautiful dress and he could not wait to see her wearing it. She then asked him if he liked his new shirt.

At this point, I turned around to survey the room I was in. I recalled it well for it used to be my room, before my father died and I moved into the bigger room next door.

Apart from the single bed pushed over by the wall, there was little in it familiar to me. From the rails of dresses and other women’s finery, it was obvious that Marian used the room as a dressing room and store for her clothes.

I returned to the door. Guy and Marian were still discussing the fayre, talking about the various events. Guy was telling Marian about the Silver Arrow contest, boasting that his man Michael the Red would most certainly win this year. Not wishing to hear any more about the archery contest that I had fared so well in in the past, I glanced around the room again.

I remembered there was a loose floorboard in the corner under which I used to keep my boyhood playthings. I slipped behind the rows of dresses picturing wooden swords, now far too small for my hands, acorns on bits of string and crudely made catapults. There was a new floorboard where the loose one had been. I shook my head at my foolishness and made to step back into the room when something caught my eye.

On a smaller rail, hidden behind the brightly coloured dresses, hung a drab brown cloak and a similarly coloured jerkin and pair of breeches, all too small for a man. Beneath them stood a pair of kidskin boots and next to them a pair of brown leather gloves, again too small for a man. Looped over one of the boots was a strange mask with eyeholes. Recalling Guy’s words about rumours of Marian riding out at night wearing a disguise I realised I had discovered her secret. She was the mysterious Night Watchman that Allan and Will spoke about.

I crept out from behind the dresses and returned to the locked door. I listened. Marian was urging Guy to try on his new shirt.

Noticing that the door’s keyhole was empty, I put my eye to it.

Guy was bare-chested. Marian handed him his new shirt: black, of course, made of fine silk.  

Then I saw it. On his arm. A tattoo. The tattoo I cut with my scimitar in the Holy Land.

Startled, disbelieving, I shrank back from the door, almost overbalancing. My already dry mouth turned to parchment. I blinked rapidly and then put my eye back to the keyhole. Surely I was mistaken.

I was not. That tattoo had been on my mind almost every day since the moment I sliced it with my blade. Something had long bothered me about it, not its design or what it might signify, but something else. Now I know what it was that disturbed me: not the tattoo itself, but the pale skin beneath and around it – the pallid skin of an Englishman newly come to the Holy Land. Guy was the man who had stabbed me and then tried to kill King Richard. Guy, dressed as a Saracen, was the king’s would-be assassin.

I felt dizzy and faint, unable to breathe. A sudden white-hot pain scorched through my side, as though he was plunging his blade into me all over again.

“The shirt is a good fit,” I heard Guy telling Marian. “Thank you.”

Regaining my breath, I put my eye back to the keyhole.

Guy was kissing Marian, his arms around her. I thought I saw her flick her eyes in my direction.

“I love you,” he murmured, between kisses. Marian did not return the words.

I could not bear it. It should have been me in there saying those words to her. It was obvious that no one, other than perhaps the sheriff and possibly the so-called Black Knights, knew of Guy’s attempt to kill the king; certainly not Marian who loved our king almost as much as I. I couldn’t let him get away with it. He didn’t deserve her and he didn’t deserve to live.

Enraged, I left my hiding place.

The door to the master bedroom was wide open. Guy had his back to me, his arms still around Marian, who was returning his kisses, reluctantly, I thought.

Sliding my bow from my shoulder, I nocked an arrow, stepped into the open doorway and took aim.

 


	10. Let it Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Endings and beginnings, for all concerned.

**Let it Go**

Holding my bow steady, the goose feather-fletched arrow anchored between cheek and chin, I shouted “Guy!” at the top of my lungs, willing him to turn around and face me, his executioner.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering whether you’d do the same thing in my position. But you’re not in my position, are you? You never went to the Holy Land to fight alongside Richard the Lionheart, nor had a dagger thrust in your side. You did not rush to the king’s tent and save him from an assassin only to watch that assassin escape punishment while you writhed in agony on the ground.

You never died, did you?

People were dying all the time, of course. I was just another one of the many thousands who lost their lives during that holy war.

Jasmina also died, on the same day as me in fact. As I lay in the hospital tent fighting for breath, she lay a mile or so away, also fighting for breath while her guardians watched over her, wringing their hands and wailing that Allah was cruel to take the last of her family from this earth.

“Enough,” Marian said, wriggling out of Guy’s encircling arms. “We’ve not even had supper yet.”

Guy grunted in annoyance and turned towards the open door, towards me.

I let the arrow fly. Nocked and loosed another, and then another. Every one aimed at his heart.

I should have known I couldn’t kill him, of course. Because you can’t kill from Heaven or even from this in-between place that Jasmina and I had found ourselves in. I know because I tried to kill a rabbit shortly after we arrived in the forest. All the rabbit did was prick up its ears and stare at me, nose twitching. Much looked heavenwards, cursing me for not being here because he was hungry and my aim was always true and I could kill that rabbit for him. When he loosed an arrow at it he missed and the rabbit disappeared into the undergrowth. Much plonked onto the ground and cried as if his heart would break.

Marian flinched, making a small sound as she did so.

Guy turned around. “What is it?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. “There must be a draught coming from somewhere. I felt cold all of sudden.”

“I could soon warm you up.” Guy undid the top two buttons of his new shirt.

“No. It’s fine. I am done in here in any case,” Marian said, deliberately ignoring his blatant suggestion that they lie together. “We should go downstairs. Magda will be serving our supper soon.”

Marian pushed past a disappointed Guy. She looked straight at me. I smiled, tears pricking my eyes.

“Smells like stew,” she said, heading towards me.

I felt a strange tearing sensation as she passed through me and then it was gone and I heard her padding along the corridor towards the stairs.

Not wanting to believe that my life was over, or, at least, hoping against hope that I still had some sort of foothold in the real world, I had foolishly thought that she might be able to see me even though others could not. Now I realise that her puzzled frowns and glances had been nothing more than at a draught or at some illusory shadow that she saw out the corner of her eye. No one could see or hear me, just as no one could see or hear Jasmina, my lively, funny, clever companion, the daughter I will never have.

Guy took off his new shirt, put on his discarded one and followed Marian out the bedchamber. I instinctively moved out of his path as he passed through the doorway.

Jasmina had warned me last night – as we snuggled down for what passed for sleep – that I might not be able to do anything, that the things we thought we felt and touched, including my bow which had been buried with me, may be nothing more than an echo of our corporeal life, that we may be as insubstantial as the air we thought we were breathing but in fact were not.

I followed Guy down the stairs, tears running down my face. When I tried to lick them off my upper lip, anticipating their salty taste, there was nothing there.

~

I’d believed God had granted me the chance to walk this earth for a purpose. On arriving in Nottingham, I had arrogantly thought it was so I could find a way of revealing the evil going on there, to Marian if to no one else, and put a stop to it. I was wrong.

It was simply my burning desire to see Marian that had brought me here. Or maybe not even that. Perhaps it was Much – who loved me dearly and who had cried almost on a daily basis since he lost me – who winged my spirit back to England so I might taste the spring air and breathe in the scents of the forest before I departed forever. I do not know.

What I do know is that I have found out what happened to my childhood sweetheart, my beloved.

Marian is married. Maybe not as happily as she would like, but she clearly sees some good in Guy that I cannot. And she is content because by marrying Guy she has kept her father safe. She also feeds and clothes the poor and delivers medicines to the sick and doubtless takes great pleasure in making this small stand against the sheriff even if it is at the risk of her own life and of Guy finding out about her masked deeds. Who knows? maybe she even steals from her own husband. And I’m sure that when she lies next to him and dreams she dreams of me.

One day, of course – and that day may be soon – she will run into Much and he will tell her what befell me in the Holy Land. She will learn that I died defending our king and that Much held me as I succumbed to the fever that followed my stabbing.  

~

Now that I knew all that I needed or wanted to know, I expected to fly this earth.

I met Jasmina in a sunny glade in the forest and we waited, watching as the sun climbed to its zenith.

“You did not say goodbye to Much,” Jasmina piped up, breaking our companionable silence. “Perhaps that is why we are still here.”

I nodded, asked, “Do you want to come find him with me?”

Jasmina considered and then said, “No. I think I will wait here. You will be sad to say goodbye to your best friend in all the world. And when you cry, your nose runs.”

I turned around to find her grinning at me.

Punching her lightly on the arm, I told her to wait for me, that I would not be long.

~

I found Much with Allan and Will.

“No wonder Robin wasn’t going to pay any more taxes,” Will said.

“Yeah, though I wouldn’t put it past the sheriff to try and claim death duty or something,” Allan added, unable to keep the grin off his face. “You know what he’s like.”

For a heartbeat, I thought Much might punch Allan, but his lips turned up in a smile and he raised his mug of ale to the sandy-haired cutpurse.

“To Robin of Locksley.”

“To Robin of Locksley,” Allan and Will echoed.

“My friend,” Much said, raising his eyes heavenwards. “And to my new friends,” he added, smacking his cup against Allan and Will’s.

I smiled. Much was going to be all right without me looking over his shoulder. And so was Marian. Because as I made my way out of Nottingham and back towards the forest, church bells started ringing. Of course, I could not ask anyone what the ringing bells meant, but on passing through the town gate I heard the news that King Richard was back on English soil and that he would soon be making his way to Nottingham.

Before I died, I told Much about the Saracen and about the tattoo I sliced with my blade. Any day now Much will find out that Guy of Gisborne is the new master of Locksley and Marian, my childhood sweetheart, his wife. If God is on our side, my dear friend, a better man than I would ever have been, will find out that Guy bears a scarred tattoo. He will take that knowledge to the king and avenge my death by naming Guy the king’s would-be assassin and my murderer. And then Marian will be free of a husband she does not love because treason is a hanging offence and I do not believe she will try to save him.

~

Jasmina smiled as I walked into the sun-gilded glade. She held out her hand. I took it, noticing how cold it was and realising mine was equally as cold.

“Will it be quick?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I replied.

“Will it hurt? Will I still be able to see and hear? Might there be angels?”

So many questions. It is the way with the young.

“It will be an adventure,” I said. “Are you ready?”

She nodded and we turned our faces skywards.

“Robin, will it—”

“No more questions,” I said. “Just close your eyes and wait. All will be well, and I am with you and will be with you – always.”

Thus we waited, quietly, our eyes shut, our hands clasped, breathing in the smells of the forest until we could smell them no more.

**The end**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Author’s Note:_**
> 
> _I’m certain that some of you will have realised during the course of this story that Robin did not survive his stab wound in the Holy Land (obviously, those of you who read the original one-shot knew this already)._
> 
> _For those of you who I managed to fool (and I do hope there were some), let me tell you of the clues I left along the way:_
> 
> _Robin never once spoke directly to Much. The only conversation Robin had was with Jasmina, who died when he did. Much occasionally spoke as though he was talking to Robin, but he was in fact only talking to himself, or to the friend/master he believes watches over him from the afterlife_
> 
> _Neither Robin nor Jasmina ever ate or drank anything, though Robin expressed the desire to do so on more than one occasion. [I had not tasted wine in a long time]_
> 
> _Though they are both ‘ghosts’ it was not in the walking through walls sense, so I needed spyholes and keyholes and doors that were wide open in order for them to move about in this half-world they lived in. [Marian did ‘pass through’ Robin in the final chapter, so perhaps Robin and Jasmina could have passed through walls and the like if they’d believed they could do so]_
> 
> _When Robin went to the Trip Inn to learn about the sheriff and the troubles in Nottingham, no one spoke to him, nor did he drink, he simply listened._
> 
> _Here are a few other clues that I sprinkled throughout the text:_
> 
> _At Much’s enquiry, Edward informed us that Marian was not at Knighton. [Much, not Robin, spoke to Edward at Knighton Hall]_
> 
> _“Well,” Much grumbled, rubbing life into his cold hands over the crackling flames, “I suppose I’d better go find something to eat before I starve to death.”[Much says I rather than we]_
> 
> _Jasmina had disappeared, perhaps realising that I would prefer to be by myself for a bit. I did not worry for her. We had gone off on our own several times on the journey back to England, she to pray for her dead parents or to play with other children, me to brood, but we always managed to find each other again, as though some **ethereal thread** linked her to me and vice versa. [obviously, Jasmina did not ‘play’ with the other children in the conventional sense of the word]_
> 
> _“It was, how you say, a joke. That is the right word, joke, yes? Sometimes you act as if you are my father – Jasmina don’t do this, Jasmina don’t do that. Besides,” she added, “no one heard me.” [no one heard Jasmina speak, nor did they see her]_
> 
> _“I’ll have you know I’m a free man. My master is not here. He is with—”_
> 
> _Much half rose out of his chair, bristling at the suggestion that he was some kind of simpleton. He leaned across the table, his face mere inches from Allan’s. “If Robin were here right now he would...he would...”_
> 
> _[Poor Much never got the chance to tell Allan and Will what had happened to Robin. He would have said: “he is with God and his angels,” or something like that, but Allan interrupted and never gave Much the chance.]_
> 
> _There are a few other clues dotted throughout, though they are subtle and have more to do with what I’ve not said than what I’ve said. The idea was always to hide the fact that Robin was speaking from beyond the grave._


End file.
